Solitude
by DrCranesfeartoxin
Summary: For Jonathan Crane, his cell at Arkham Asylum was no prison. On the contrary, he thrived in the solitude... This story is a one-shot.


Hello readers! I present my first one-shot, inspired by some writing prompts and the Batman Arkham Asylum videogame. Enjoy!

Solitude

The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane: notorious home of Gotham's finest criminals and mentally deranged lunatics.

Crane paced across the small room, no windows, no bed, just a lamp and a broken latrine. The warden had stripped him of his suit and gave him a faded orange jumpsuit to clothe himself with. Like the other inmates, like the other criminals. It had been a week since his encounter with _The Bat. _Crane had successfully managed to spray his little side-kick, who proceeded to weep hysterically and convulse on the pavement of a Gotham alley.

Oh how he enjoyed seeing his victims reduced to sobbing, pathetic weaklings.

But _The Bat_ was much smarter, more cunning and prepared. Overpowering Crane with brute force and whisking him to Arkham; where he was met with the disapproving scoffs of his co-workers.

"_Poor Jonathan Crane, brilliant psychologist gone wrong." _Some even looked Crane dead in the eye and hissed, "_I knew you were insane."_

Crane saw past their lofty attitudes and sneers, knowing that deep down they feared the darkly comical irony of winding up like their patients.

Crane sat on the cell's filthy floor, taking care not to cut himself with the broken tile. He would escape, yes, he always did. He knew Arkham, navigating it's labyrinth of winding halls and endless cellars was easy, yet Crane was in no haste to leave.

"_How delusional" _Crane thought rancorously, "_they believe this is punishment, this solitude, these four walls." _

He stood and placed a hand on the wall, its layers of paint peeling and flaking. No this solitude was no punishment. He thrived in seclusion ever since he was a child.

Granny Keeny would use isolation for _discipline,_ locking Crane in an abandoned church full of crows. Crane enjoyed the solitude, it allowed time for reflection and thought. After several hours Marion Keeny would return, opening the heavy wooden doors of the church.

"What do you say Jonathan?" She would ask in a venomous, dry tone.

Jonathan would look at his great-grandmother's pale wrinkled face, the harsh crimson slash of her mouth pursed into a tight line, "thank you grandmother for instructing me to be righteous."

Crane raked his hands through his hair, the very hands that killed Marion Keeny. It had been his second murder, although looking back on it, he wishes he would have waited. He wishes he would have killed her slowly, with his fear toxin, relishing the terror in Granny Keeny's face as she looked upon Scarecrow, the master of fear. Yes, that would have been _prefect._

Suddenly the cell's heavy metal door flew open. Warden Quincy Sharp stood in the doorway, his stout figure illuminated by the fluorescent lights of the asylum hallways.

"4423 it's time for your therapy session."

Sharp had the audacity to refer to Crane by his number, like one of the insane inmates he dealt with on a daily basis. "_I wonder what you fear Mr. Sharp?" _Crane thought smugly, in time Sharp would pay, he would make sure of that. For the time being however, Crane would have to attend his therapy session. Crane stepped out of his cell, a rough hand grabbed his shoulder, while another grabbed at his dark locks. In an instant he was pinned against the wall, his cheekbones bored into the crumbling brick wall as a security guard handcuffed him. He then proceeded to roughly shove Crane towards Sharp, who had a smirk plastered across his face. Crane swallowed hard and clenched his jaw.

"Follow me 4423."

* * *

"Now tell me Jonathan, have you ever seen a counselor before?" Joan Leland asked in her usual sugary tone. The counseling room was a stark white color, its sole ornamentation, the table chairs Dr. Leland and Crane sat on. Crane glanced at the two burly security guards standing side by side at the door.

"No," he answered dryly.

Dr. Leland nodded and scribbled his answer in a patent leather notebook. "And what do you think brought you here?"

The metal of the handcuffs rubbed against Crane's wrists, he inhaled deeply before tartly responding, "well clearly Dr. Leland, I'm insane. Why else would I be in a mental asylum?"

Dr. Leland's sighed, "let's get a tad more personal shall we?"

* * *

The therapy session was futile. After an hour of throwing the standard questions at Crane without response, Joan called off the session, saying they would try again tomorrow. Now Crane found himself alone in his cell once more. His mind preoccupied with thoughts of experimentation. Next time he encountered _The Bat_ he would be ready. His demise would be caused by no other than the Scarecrow, yes, first _The Bat_ then Gotham.

Crane would remain tenacious and focused in this solitude. When the time came, he would emerge ever more vindictive and cunning. No, Crane was in no haste to leave…


End file.
